watch the sky [spn][flash fiction]
Sep. 6th, 2009 08:34 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mimblexwimbleTitle: Watch the Sky
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Sam
Word Count: 490
Rating: PG
Summary: You don’t even realize it’s July 4th until you see the first fireworks split the night sky.
Notes: Nothing special. Written for the Celebrating Sam comment fic meme at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
spngenlove a while back.
You don’t even realize it’s July 4th until you see the first fireworks split the night sky.
You’re driving, somewhere – West Texas, perhaps, or maybe you’ve managed to segue right into New Mexico without knowing it. You haven’t been watching the signs. It doesn’t really seem to matter where you are or where you’re going. Ruby always manages to find you, even when you can’t find yourself, and she brings the hunts, these days. The hunts, the news, (the blood, the purpose). All you’ve got to do is be alive when she steps through the door of whatever shithole motel room you’re staying in. So that’s what you’re focusing on; keeping your heart beating in between the headaches and the pain and the searing sharpness of control, all at once tangy and bitter in your veins.
Another explosion of color, shower of rainbows and you can almost hear Dean whooping in your ear, grin wide.
The car rumbles underneath you and fifteen minutes later, you’re stopping and you don’t know why (but you don’t know why anything anymore, so it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter at all).
The convenience store is too-bright and too-large, but there aren’t a lot of people around, so you head to the back for the freezers. A little bit of shuffling and you find a package of the hot dogs Dean likes best. You don’t have any vegetables, and you won’t find them here either, but you grab a box of aluminum foil as you walk through the aisle.
You pay and leave without waiting for the plastic bag, just take them off the counter, ignoring the protests of the cashier.
Your hand aches from the frozen hot dogs, but you don’t care.
When you find a dark, empty road, you stop again. The hot dogs haven’t really thawed, just drip condensed water onto your lap, so you open the Impala’s hood and set them on the intake manifold. You tear sheets of foil from the box, fashion then into a small basket. When they hot dogs have warmed enough, you rip the plastic covering off with your teeth, separate them with red-white fingertips and toss them into the foil basket. You pinch it closed, set the whole thing on the manifold, and start driving again.
There’s a field, where people have set up blankets and brought picnic baskets. They’ve got their families with them. Their friends.
You can hear them laughing, from where you park on the roadside, near a wooden fence. A breeze rustles the tall grass around the posts.
The hot dogs are toasty. You don’t wish you’d bought vegetables. You don’t care that there’s no salt or pepper.
You sit in the car and eat alone, watching the sky. A shrieking whistle, a muffled crack and it rains color.
The red reminds you of fire.
You try not to hear his voice in your head.
You try not to hear his laugh.
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Sam
Word Count: 490
Rating: PG
Summary: You don’t even realize it’s July 4th until you see the first fireworks split the night sky.
Notes: Nothing special. Written for the Celebrating Sam comment fic meme at
spngenlove a while back.You don’t even realize it’s July 4th until you see the first fireworks split the night sky.
You’re driving, somewhere – West Texas, perhaps, or maybe you’ve managed to segue right into New Mexico without knowing it. You haven’t been watching the signs. It doesn’t really seem to matter where you are or where you’re going. Ruby always manages to find you, even when you can’t find yourself, and she brings the hunts, these days. The hunts, the news, (the blood, the purpose). All you’ve got to do is be alive when she steps through the door of whatever shithole motel room you’re staying in. So that’s what you’re focusing on; keeping your heart beating in between the headaches and the pain and the searing sharpness of control, all at once tangy and bitter in your veins.
Another explosion of color, shower of rainbows and you can almost hear Dean whooping in your ear, grin wide.
The car rumbles underneath you and fifteen minutes later, you’re stopping and you don’t know why (but you don’t know why anything anymore, so it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter at all).
The convenience store is too-bright and too-large, but there aren’t a lot of people around, so you head to the back for the freezers. A little bit of shuffling and you find a package of the hot dogs Dean likes best. You don’t have any vegetables, and you won’t find them here either, but you grab a box of aluminum foil as you walk through the aisle.
You pay and leave without waiting for the plastic bag, just take them off the counter, ignoring the protests of the cashier.
Your hand aches from the frozen hot dogs, but you don’t care.
When you find a dark, empty road, you stop again. The hot dogs haven’t really thawed, just drip condensed water onto your lap, so you open the Impala’s hood and set them on the intake manifold. You tear sheets of foil from the box, fashion then into a small basket. When they hot dogs have warmed enough, you rip the plastic covering off with your teeth, separate them with red-white fingertips and toss them into the foil basket. You pinch it closed, set the whole thing on the manifold, and start driving again.
There’s a field, where people have set up blankets and brought picnic baskets. They’ve got their families with them. Their friends.
You can hear them laughing, from where you park on the roadside, near a wooden fence. A breeze rustles the tall grass around the posts.
The hot dogs are toasty. You don’t wish you’d bought vegetables. You don’t care that there’s no salt or pepper.
You sit in the car and eat alone, watching the sky. A shrieking whistle, a muffled crack and it rains color.
The red reminds you of fire.
You try not to hear his voice in your head.
You try not to hear his laugh.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2009-09-07 02:57 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-09-17 05:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-09-07 12:16 pm (UTC)There's a sense of desperation that's just shy of visible and it's heart-breaking to see Sam keeping it together when he's so close to breaking.
And this prose is just so intense- gorgeous as always m'dear.
no subject
Date: 2009-09-17 05:23 pm (UTC)